My I Can’t think of anything to post, post.

So back in July of 2004, when I lived on Cape Cod, I was young, and sorta stupid, and spent the day on the beach in a bikini.  I put suntan lotion on every inch of exposed skin, except for well….the following pictures are evidence of my….oversight.

There is no reason for posting this other than my lack of another idea.  That, and I was browsing through Flickr photos, and these caught my eye.

Sorry for wasting your time.  You may now get back to your day.


Superhero status.

My son is a superhero.  He says please and thank you without being prompted. (most of the time)  He can brush his own teeth, wash his face, and he remembers to turn off the light.  He helps when he can, gives hugs freely, and has more empathy that some adults I know.

In typical superhero fashion, he also wears his underwear over his  pants.

I asked Rowan to get ready to go to the post office, grab the box on the counter, and meet me at the car. 

I had to try not to laugh when I saw him.  To him there was nothing funny about his outfit.  He dressed himself entirely, and was proud of that.

He confidently walked into the post office, with his head held high and a spring in his step.  There was not a doubt in his mind that he looked good.  He didn’t care that he was dressed differently, or that people were pointing and giggling.  He just threw them a smile, and continued his walk to the counter. 

Carefully he handed the box and the money I gave him to the cashier.  The man behind the counter commented, “Son, your Momma put your underwear on the wrong side of your pants!”  I expected Rowan to either ignore the comment, or shyly put his head on my shoulder.  Instead he boldly stated, “Nope! I did it!”  He took the change, hopped down from the counter, waved to his fans, and held the door open for his mom.

We walked hand-in-hand to the car, both of us beaming. 

I am proud of my son.  He is a superhero.

A less-than-thrilling post

Before the cold weather hits, I’ve been trying to get Rowan outside as much as possible.  As his imaginative play develops, his desire for props has grown.  He had been asking for a gas pump for a few days, so I finally made him one last week.  Now, yes, I could have just bought him this:

Personally I don’t have an extra $25 to spend on this, I don’t have $25 to spend at the real gas pumps.  Yes, this is cute, and perfect for him, and I’m a little bummed I can’t buy it, but we can have just as much fun with the one I made out of a kitty litter bucket.  😀

Now, this is not rocket science.  Heck, it’s not even science!  I threw this together with stuff I found around the house, and it was a darn good excuse to use power tools.

The materials with a helmeted kid.

Like I said, it’s a kitty litter bucket, a piece of plastic tubing that I”ll probably get in trouble for taking when my dad goes to fix something, and it’s gone, tin foil, and some duct tape.  Throw in a power drill, and some drill bits that were way too big for this project, but I wanted to use, so I did.

The kitty litter bucket with a hole drilled into it (aren't you glad I explained that for you?)

Notice the perfectly cylindrical hole drilled right near the “with easy pour grips” line.  Now, it’s not imperative that you use an “odor eliminating carbons” kitty littler bucket.  Multiple cats, indoor cat, clumping, or non-clumping littler buckets will work just fine.

Insert the tube and secure with duct tape on the inside of the bucket.

(Is it just me, or is this post starting to sound dirty?)

Attach some tin foil to the opposite end of the tubing, and shape into a nozzle.


Allow child to play. Child will play for five minutes-tops. Child will then find bug and follow it for a half hour.


This concludes the “How to build a gas pump at home” tutorial.  For more information, please don’t contact me.  It’s not exactly difficult.  Use your imagination.

Warning:  Feelings of pride at building your child something out of recycled materials instead of buying a toy that will eventually end up in a landfill may arise.  Overconfidence in your abilities to build a treehouse may follow.  Proceed with caution.

As a side note, Rowan has played with this thing every day since I made it.  He has incorporated an old Petco card to use as a credit card, and some Guatemalan coins have become his cash for buying gas.

Saturday Morning

Rowan and I have been on our own for the past few days, and I must say, we’ve been having a great time.  Here is a little peek into our Saturday morning:

Shortly after this video was shot, Rowan told me a story about making snakes out of play-play(play doh), that he was going to dice (I’ve been teaching him culinary terminology when we cook together) with Betty (the woman that cuts his hair).  Then he and his stuffed dog named Goog were going to run, run, run fast.

The End.

Oh yeah, his reaction to seeing this video of himself: “Super cute!”

I had a bad day

I make mistakes.  I mess up.  I’m so far from perfect, I’m practically human!

I didn’t blog yesterday, and for that, I am deeply apologetic.  Here’s why I didn’t blog yesterday:


From the moment my feet hit the floor after a sleepless night, things started to go wrong.  I had a short reprieve from life when I took Rowan to the home school co-op that we volunteer with every Thursday.  Apart from a pounding headache, it was a good couple of hours. 

The moment we buckled our seatbelts and headed out of the driveway, my craptastic day picked up right where I had left off.  We eventually made it home, where the last thing I wanted to do was be around people.  That didn’t bode well, seeing how minutes after we returned, a group of people showed up at my door.

They left several hours later, and I got Rowan into the tub, fed him and my grandmother dinner, and got them both ready for bed, and then sat my self down to decompress.  I was interrupted by a phone call, whose sole purpose was to inform me that I was a horrible person.  I was grateful that my son was in bed, so I could take my verbal beating uninterrupted.

I hung up the phone, drained and feeling sorry for myself.  I dragged my exhausted body to bed, and just cried.  Again I was interrupted by a phone call.  This one was EXACTLY what I needed though.  Someone to listen, offer sound advice, and haul me back up onto my feet.  Michael, you are the sweetest, kindest, and most patient man.  Thank you for listening to my incoherent babbling.  You’re the best.  🙂

Today I woke up well rested, with a good attitude, and a willingness to let things go, and not take unkind and untrue words personally.  The sun is shining today, it’s warm, and I’m spending time with my favorite two year old in the whole world.  We’ve gone for a walk, eaten home made popsicles out on the patio, chased each other around the living room with baskets on our heads, and collapsed in a heap of giggles more than once. 

This is what  I know to be true: I am not perfect, and that’s okay, I’m still loved.  Bad days happen sometimes, and that’s okay, I’m still loved.  Perspective is important.  What people think of me is not.  Forgiving, even when it’s hard, is vital.  And most importantly, laughter is always, and I mean always, the very best medicine.

November 9th, 2010

As Rowan gets older, he’s been playing on his own a lot more.  One of his favorite things to do is take out all his train tracks, and set up elaborate scenes on the floor.  Here is one such scene:

Pretty impressive, huh?  Granted, I did help him with some of the logistics, but for the most part, this was built by Rowan alone.  Comparatively, he spends more than twice as much time building than actually playing with the trains.  It’s quite fascinating to watch!